A Yule Ball
by ignorant-loquacity
Summary: Cheesy little snarry ficlet. Set after Harry finishes school.


DISCALIMER- I do not own any of the characters etc.

**A Yule Ball. (a.k.a. Harry Potter and the Imaginatively titled ficlet.) **

The sparkling light from the candles above the great hall was reflected by the glasses of the new DADA professor, obscuring the emerald green depths behind them. Had anyone been able to see, they would have noted that the same joyousness displayed in his broad grin extended up to his eyes. The fact that he was truly happy would not have been remarkable if the man in question, for he was undoubtedly a man now, had not seen much sorrow in recent years. Even after having begun life as a teacher, having moved on from Voldemort's defeat and the bloody battle that precluded it, Harry was still haunted by memories that were spurred up from the dark corners of his mind by the familiar corridors of Hogwarts. Many times in the (now ended) term Harry had questioned the wisdom of his decision to return, even though Dumbledore had truly needed him there.

However, the magnificence of the decorations, the aroma of the food and the gradual remembrance of the happier times spent there had caused Harry to be the happiest he could remember in a long time. The fact that most of the students had stayed at school for the Yule Ball filled the huge hall with a natural warmth and buzz of conversation. Seeing McGonagall further down the table to his left he waved and rolled his eyes, for she was looking flustered- clearly unsure of how to behave as Michael White (a cheeky Gryffindor 4th year) kept sampling pieces of her treacle tart from her plate. Harry turned away, ignoring the occasional comment of "delicious, professor" and suppressed giggles from the remaining 4th years, mentally questioning Dumbledore's wisdom in making teachers join the students at their house tables. The old man had arranged the ball in order to herald better times to come; and had insisted that by seating teachers among pupils at the tables of the houses to which they originally belonged, he would create a more "festive and companionable" atmosphere. At moments, Harry suspected that the headmaster came up with this scheme in order to see the look on Snape's face, which was, predictably, priceless.

Thinking of Snape, Harry looked across the dance floor in the middle to the Slytherin table, which had been moved further back across the magically enlarged area to make room. The potions master was seated amongst a group of sycophantic 5th years, wearing a glare that could have stopped a herd of stampeding elephants. Seeing Harry looking, he gave a quick smile in greeting before turning to berate an errant 2nd year for believing (and demonstrating) that mince pies could be used for purposes other than consumption. The smile sailed over the empty space in the middle to hit the DADA teacher, making his pulse race and his insides twist in agitation. Blood liberated from his drumming heart surged upwards to colour Harry's face red. He immediately felt ashamed, imagining how he was betraying Severus' trust with every one of these.... _feelings_.

When he assumed his position at Hogwarts, Harry imagined that envy of his job, coupled with a general hatred of the boy- who-lived, his father and anyone not a Slytherin would automatically ensure Snape's utter loathing of him. Oddly enough, during his first term the surly professor had become a great friend (despite grave suspicion on Harry's part), helping him adjust to life as a teacher and on many occasions being the other party in companionable discussions that stretched into the small hours of the morning. It was during one such discussion about the ethics of teaching the dark arts (rather than just defence against them), that something unexpected occurred to Harry. In the grip of a heated debate, both had leaned forward in their armchairs and were conversing earnestly in the comfort of Harry's newly furnished office. Trying to convince the younger man of a particularly vital concept, Snape had grabbed him by the hand as if to lead him physically through the mental pathways they were attempting to follow. Unbeknownst to the potions master, the touch had sent a jet of fire through Harry's body, setting every nerve aflame and making him painfully aware of how near Snape was, how attractive Snape was, how _soft_.

It was as though all the knowledge that had been covertly building up inside of Harry for the entire term burst onto his consciousness at once, and he realised that Snape- no, Severus, had transformed from his despised, greasy potions master to a clever, funny friend who he respected. From that moment Harry ceased to hold the least suspicion against the older man (and consequently to stop checking his food for furtively inserted poisons) and to completely trust him. He felt that Severus trusted him too, which made him feel worse when he admitted to himself that his feelings for the potions master extended far beyond amicable intentions. How, he thought to himself, could he deserve Severus' trust when at every moment during their conversations he wanted to pin him to the back of the armchair and with his tongue explore the mouth from which insults and wisdom both poured with tones of treacle?

Music jolted him back to the present, and he realised with a start that the dancing had begun. Seeing McGonagall free of 4th years and dancing happily with Dumbledore lifted him out of his reverie, and he watched the couples contentedly for some time, his attitude making it plain that he did not want to dance, despite there being several who wished otherwise. Presently Harry noticed two shy Gryffindor girls exchanging nervous, hopeful glances with a couple of Ravenclaw boys on the table next to the Slytherins across the hall. After 10 minutes of this behaviour, feeling like teaching his students something other than the dangers of red-caps for a change he wandered over to their table.

"Hello Sarah, Hannah" he said as he sat down next to them.

"Hello professor", they said in unison, stealing a look at the Ravenclaw table as they did so.

"Not dancing then?" he said, painfully aware that Snape would have laughed at him for stating the obvious. Just because he was Harry's friend didn't mean he'd stopped being snarky.

"No, Sir" said Hannah glumly. Sarah on the other hand, sensing a good opportunity to end the stalemate (the new DADA teacher had built up an approachable and amiable relationship with the students) said in a low voice

"Well sir, we would dance if only Rhys and Will would ask us."

Harry smiled, aware that to walk across the hall and ask a boy to dance (especially in front of a table of Slytherins) was too daunting for the pair, who always hid at the back in his class.

"Here" he whispered conspiratorially, handing each a napkin "write to them and ask them to dance".

"Sir?" questioned Hannah, possessed of a nature to honest to be accustomed to sending notes in lessons.

In answer Harry took Sarah's napkin, on which she had scribbled her message _(want to dance?) _folded it into a swan and charmed it to fly unobtrusively across the hall and into Will's hand. Hannah, catching on, wrote on hers and copied Harry's actions.

Seeing the smiling boys advancing towards the table, napkins in hand, he wished them a merry Christmas and made his exit.

Harry returned to his seat and resumed watching the dancing, which now included the girls to whom he had just been talking (and their partners). Amusedly thinking that he would have to cure them all of their shyness in his DADA lessons if he possibly could, he failed to notice a white napkin sailing towards him, and it was only his quidditch reflexes that saved him from embarrassment . Puzzled, he looked from the white paper in his fist around the hall, seeking his correspondent. He noticed nothing unusual, although a small part of him observed that Snape was nowhere to be seen, although that thought was mentally trampled upon as soon as possible. Opening the note, he found the words:

_Teaching disruptive spells to students, Potter?_

Severus's handwriting! There was no mistaking the graceful curve of the letters, and Harry's stomach dropped into a black hole. 'Typical Severus humour, he thought, 'and where is he, anyway?' With thoughts whirling he tried to look for the potions master inconspicuously. His search failed, but a minute later another napkin-swan tapped him on the back with its soft beak. The note, hastily opened, bore the words:

_Can't find me? Are you sure you are qualified to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts? _

Torn between irritation and laughter Harry was about to undertake a more thorough search when he was stopped by a third note. This one perched on his hand and looked up at him, chirping, and Harry took a moment to acknowledge Snape's showing off before ripping it open. (perhaps a touch more brutally than was necessary.) The message inside made his breath catch in his throat, and it was so different to the other that he had to check it was intended for him. It read:

_Care to dance? _

Harry was still staring at the note when a velvet deep, chocolate rich voice spoke from behind him and melted the bones in his body. "Well?" murmured Snape, centimetres away, the nearness of his body warming Harry's to an intolerable degree. "Are you going to keep me in suspense much longer?"

His legs trembling slightly, Harry rose in reply and allowed the older man to lead him to the dance floor, where the music had changed to a slower and people were beginning to dance far more intimately. He pausedand looked at Snape, silently questioning him, doubting that he would actually wish to continue. In reply, Snape snaked his arms around Harry's waist and pulled him close, past the boundaries of friendship. They both shivered simultaneously, not from fear or disgust, but anticipation. Snape subtly caressed his back, breathing in the fresh, pine scent that was always present on Harry, whilst the younger man tentatively brushed his hand over the other's cheek, marvelling at the touch and the myriad of pleasant sensations coursing through his body. Slowly, gently, they moved to the rhythm of the music, enveloped by the headiness of their being pressed against each other, Harry's head resting naturally on Severus's.

The song ended, and they relectantly pulled away from each other as a far bouncier rhythm pervaded the air, ruining the atmosphere. Harry felt frustrated as Severus looked searchingly into his eyes, before abruptly turning and striding decisively away. Harry had never felt anything so powerful, so electric in all his life and Snape could just walk away? What had he done wrong? Lost in his confused feelings Harry walked into the Entrance Hall and was making his way outside when a paper swan, looking as though it had been made in considerably more haste than the others, fluttered out of the Hall behind him and collapsed on his shoulder. Automatically, Harry opened it and read the contents, although his expression did not change until his mind had registered what the parchment said. Then, grinning with relief and pure happiness, he changed course and headed for the dungeons, discarding the note to the floor as he broke into a run. Had not Severus Snape been an deeply private man and spelled his notes to destroy themselves shortly after their task was accomplished, revellers leaving the Great Hall might have come upon a piece of parchment bearing the hastily written words:

_Dear Harry, _

_I seem to have forgotten to give you your Christmas present._

_If you would care to visit my chambers I will rectify this _

_oversight immediately._

_Love, _

_S.S. _

Perhaps not the most romantic note ever written, but for Harry, it turned out to be a very merry Christmas.

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Merry Christmas! This is incredibly cheesy and writing's a bit sub-standard, but I'll post it anyway, I'm in a rebellious mood.

P.S. I will be updating the other story soon (similarmus), I was going to do it sooner but I was busy getting rejected from Oxford University. sob


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